


Lark and Nightingale By Dawn

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Series: Then I Defy You Stars [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff/Comfort?, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant - Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 21:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: With Theseus injured, it's hard not to think about what the three of them stand to lose.





	Lark and Nightingale By Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on a much longer third part to this series, following the developing relationship(s). However, going through some old words I found this set near the end, and who knows how long the larger fic will take?

It was rough for a while there. As essentially good as Theseus' heart is – and Percival has never had any reason to doubt that, in wartime or peacetime or whatever they're calling this time – as obviously as Credence had suffered, the burn where their names should be had shaken him. Percival can still see that expression whenever he closes his eyes, and he suspects he'll do so for the rest of his life. For someone as insecure in their own worth as Theseus, discovering he'd been erased had cut through to somewhere very deep indeed.

Auburn strands tangle between his fingers now, the soft bedroom lights turning them red and gold. He’d teased Theseus about that, once, after another soldier had talked him through the Hogwarts house colours and why a tattered scarf should matter to anybody. 

“I think you’re taking house pride rather too seriously.”

"I thought I didn't take anything seriously." 

Percival had meant it as a compliment – from what he understands, 'a true Gryffindor' is far from an insult – but he'd let it drop. Now, though, the thought returns to him: courage and chivalry, allegedly. The knights. Appropriate enough.

A soft noise from the doorway makes him raise his head from his musings. Credence is standing there, curved over two mugs, and the glorious scent of coffee winds its way over to Percival. It's all he can do not to twitch his fingers and bring the mug into his hands right this instant. It's still a struggle, resisting that impulse, perhaps more so now that his magic is willing to follow his will once more. If he tried it, there's a very real chance steaming liquid will end up spilled across Credence or Theseus or both, and that would rather ruin the moment.

It gives him that little bit more sympathy for Credence's plight, finding his own magic twisting oddly away from him, which he supposes is some small compensation. Theseus understands feeling out of control, moved by emotions rather than thought, and it's hard to miss the light in Credence's eyes at being told it's all right to feel. The hard lines, though – that, Theseus struggles with. It's not all that surprising, perhaps, given that usually Theseus' main adversary is either someone he can punch or himself. Credence and Percival both have obstacles to overcome, but it's less active than Theseus could ever stand. It's a small reason in comparison to all the rest, but Percival remains grateful Theseus wasn't the one taken, to spare him that.

"Any change?" Credence asks softly as he passes over the mug; he tries not to show it, so used to hiding, but Percival can see the way Credence’s body sags when he shakes his head. Percival finds that he was expecting the other mug to contain tea, despite Theseus' unconscious state; he's very gratified to instead recognise the darker brown of cocoa. It's taken a while, but Credence is finally doing small things like that for himself, his own comforts and wishes. Somewhere between Theseus' determination to spoil him and Percival's own halting attempts at what it means to do something for yourself, he's found his own balance. As soon as Credence's mug is on the side, out of harm's way, Percival catches his arm to pull him in close and kiss him.

Chocolate and coffee. It's a sweet edge to his own bitterness, and, as much as he wants to devour it, he restrains himself. Just a taste. A quick passing of lips and tongue.

When he draws back, Credence's cheeks are dusted with a faint smattering of pink. Theseus found that blush first, delighting in it endlessly, to the point where Percival finds himself surprised to have caused it. As if it belongs to Theseus.

"Why?"

That, however, has never grown easier. So unused to contact, to affection, that even now Credence’s first instinct is to look for some reason other than what they are to each other. Sometimes Percival wonders if it's the shadow of Grindelwald still hanging over the three of them. A lifetime of loneliness, only for kindness to become a weapon. Blame Theseus and his concerning ability to spin the worst hypotheticals out of the air, but he can't help thinking about a life where they found Credence first, the way they should have done. 

At least Theseus was on another continent, still turning over every stone and searching everywhere even when Percival kept telling him to let the matter drop for his own good. Percival had no such excuses. And Grindelwald found Credence just like that.

"Thinking about the past," Percival says, because Credence won't let it go with a simple 'nothing'. That's twisted Theseus into knots several times, the cutting off of the easy exit. What Percival just barely manages through stubbornness and guile, Credence can do with a simple blink of those large sad eyes. Britain's Head Auror, malleable dough in his hands, and he still looks so innocent.

Clearly Credence isn't satisfied, judging from the way his eyes narrow slightly – Mercy Lewis, Percival thinks Credence has picked that up from him. However, at that moment Theseus shifts slightly on the bed, and instantly he has their full attention.

'Routine assignment', Percival's ass. Surely by now he should have realised the warning that phrase entailed – except he did, had objected in no uncertain terms, and Theseus had just waved him off and then only barely survived a maelstrom of curses which laid more than half the assigned team to waste. At first Percival couldn't even stay with him, hearing more through official channels as to his recovery. That's why it's Credence getting drinks and making dinner and any number of other small meaningless tasks, despite him hating to leave either of them when they're hurt. Now he curls up next to Percival, slumping down so that his arm drapes easily over his shoulders, and Percival pulls him in as closely as he dares.

Call it gaining or losing control, but it's no coincidence that nobody wants to be the one to break any bad news to Credence. The obscurus is still there under his skin, gaining labels from Newt like 'symbiotic relationship' which make Percival wince. Never mind that the obscurus kept Credence alive through all the abuse; it was still devouring his magic and now there's no need and it won't stop eating. Obviously Percival wants Credence intact, just not at the expense of something which should be a joy for him. That's the wonderful thing, really, seeing magic through Credence's eyes, just as his own recovery has made the smallest wandless magic the greatest victory.

Percival's had to learn his limitations, inscribed in his skin in scars and runes. Credence is still discovering how much further his are than he ever realised, eyes wide with wonder. Theseus, on the other hand, has no such concept because he's an impetuous _idiot_ who doesn't seem to realise how much either of them will feel his loss.

Percival's mother knew her soulmate for _two days_ , and losing that woman broke her somewhere deep inside. Percival grew up in the shadow of that wound, the blood seeping in from every corner. On the day his names came through, he was so scared that his mother would cry. The blankness on her face was so much worse though. Worse than his father’s edict, shaping three lives at the same time.

Never mind that he'd lose someone so bound up in his life that he can't untangle the two of them anymore. He couldn't watch it happening to Credence, that rupturing between love and grief. Just thinking about it makes him wish Theseus would wake up so that he could knock him out again.

Credence's hand drifts down to Theseus', thumb stroking along the inside of his wrist. He's always so shy about asking, even though Percival knows it stuns him to see his name written twice over on their skin. It's so strange when he's grown so used to Theseus simply taking hold, exposing the names or pressing a kiss to them when he clearly feels too overwhelmed to convert feelings into words. There's a whole silent language to Theseus' touches, one Credence struggled so much with at first simply because touch was so alien to him. The first time Theseus pressed a kiss into his hair rather than simply saying 'well done', Percival thought their boy might faint.

At first, he thinks he's imagining the movement under his fingers, still tangled in Theseus' hair. He's been sat here so long, wishing for exactly this, that it hardly seems possible. Then Theseus' head moves to the side, away from him, and then there's a sharp yelp, shattering the reverent silence and making Credence jump and sit upright. 

"Bloody buggering _fuck_ , Perce, that hurt!"

Of course. Without Theseus' ridiculous constant preening, his hair tangles itself into knots so easily, and no doubt Percival hasn't been helping either with his need to feel it under his fingers for reasons he can't really explain. Now Theseus is glaring up at him and the returning insult is right there on the tip of Percival's tongue. Perhaps something admonishing about Theseus' differences in pain thresholds, as if that would make any difference in how he lives his life one heartstopping day at a time.

He doesn't get a chance, though, because the moment Theseus starts to sit up he's pinned back down by Credence, hugging him so tightly that Theseus actually looks a little short of breath.

"Hey," he manages, gasping for air before trying again through the strain, "hey, stormcloud, what's wrong?"

The obscurus is under control. That's what they tell everyone. Nobody has to know about the flashes of white eyes, the tipped vases, or – such as right now – the way Credence's skin ripples, there and gone in an instant.

"You were dead."

Theseus blinks, raising an eyebrow at Percival over Credence's head. Percival offers him exactly the amount of help he deserves by sitting and glaring at him. "Okay," he says slowly, "that's surprising to me since I seem to be right here."

"Barely," Percival mutters.

"Fairly certain life and death are more of an either/or thing, Perce, not – "

Credence sits up and Theseus instantly shuts up. It's such a miracle that Percival would love to appreciate it if he weren’t quite so certain his bedroom might get ripped to shreds in the next minute. "

You went out without telling me," Credence hisses, that predator edge which hides so carefully, "and when you came back you wouldn't wake up."

To Percival's surprise, Theseus actually looks a little shamefaced. It's hardly the first time such a statement has been made, and once again Percival finds himself mentally upgrading Credence's potential threat level should anything happen to them (still below Theseus, but closing the gap fast). "It wasn't supposed to be a big thing, stormcloud."

Credence's hands clench in the blankets. "I don't understand why you won't look after yourself."

"It's just the job."

"Percival doesn't do it."

Percival inhales, already anticipating what Theseus might say to _that_ , and sure enough: 

"Percival's suffered much more than me." 

Theseus has never had much tact, to the point where he's almost predictable, but that doesn't stop the spiders crawling up Percival’s spine.

"Shit." A hand on his thigh, his arm: Theseus. "Sorry, Perce. This stuff just..."

"Slips out." Percival nods. "I know. Still makes you a bastard, though."

Theseus huffs a laugh, for all that his eyes still look sad. "We're a bloody mess, aren't we?"

"Speak for yourself." Percival holds out a hand and feels Credence take it, pulling in close to them once more. Usually Credence is on the inside, but they both need to keep Theseus still right now.

Credence presses his forehead against the back of Theseus' neck, and Theseus' eyes slide closed. "You don't do this again." Percival can already see the way Theseus flinches, how he doesn't want to lie or tell the truth. Possibly it mirrors his own expression, because there's another war building and they have a very personal stake in who wins this time.

It's all right though. Credence isn't done yet.

"You don't do this again without us."

Theseus' eyes meet Percival's with first surprise, then a wonder which is all Credence's own. For all that he calls Percival a marvel, it's Credence that he gazes on like some no-maj relic.

"I think I can do that," Theseus says slowly, hand tracing Percival's arm down to where his and Credence's hands are linked, eyes still not leaving Percival.

Percival's grip tightens under the brush of another thumb: the three of them, together. 

"The way it should be."


End file.
